The First Time
by IwillYURIforYAOI
Summary: Sam comes to John in the middle of the night after being badly injured. John takes care of him. M rated for strong mentions of abuse and violence and first time sexual content. M/M slash!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This basically is my main headcanon for all of my I Am Number Four fanfiction. If you've read my other stuff and didn't get what I was going for, here's probably why. It took me some time to actually find out what I was trying to say in this fic. Hope you like it.**

The first time Sam snuck into John's room in the middle of the night, John almost had a heart attack. He'd just left his bedroom at about two am for a glass of water in nothing but fleece pajama pants then crept back upstairs, wondering why he chose to be so quiet now that Henri was dead and no one else lived in the house with him. He finally got back to his room and turned to shut the door soundlessly. When he turned back around, he'd dropped the glass of water on the floor and spilled its contents all over the carpet.

Sam sat on his bed, his back to the door, looking at the open window that he'd obviously crawled through, the wind blowing into the room, sending the papers on John's desk skittering around the room. John shivered at the cold and crossed the room in two seconds, ignoring the water seeping into the carpet, focused only on how cold the room must be for the already shivering Sam who wore nothing but boxers and a t-shirt. As soon as the window was closed, John turned back to the brunette – and gasped.

Sam's face was badly bruised as was most of his collarbone and John could only assume the rest of his chest. His cheekbone was cut and bleeding profusely, as was his forehead. He hung his head, wiping the blood that dripped into his eyes off with the pad of his thumb.

"What the hell happened?" was all John could think to say. He was too badly shocked at the sight of Sam like this to be eloquent and forgiving. The first emotion he felt – after the initial moment of panic – was anger. He was going to kill whoever did this to Sam. And he had a hunch it had something to do with his stepdad.

"Nothing. I just – needed to get out of the house for a bit. Y'know?" Sam kept his head down, smearing the blood on his forehead around without any of it actually clotting.

"Sam," John said, infinitely more tender than his earlier outburst, but Sam continued looking at the ground. John sighed. "If you keep doing that, you're going to drip blood on your shirt," he finally said, and Sam's eyes flicked up to his face. "I know it's your favorite."

John walked to the bathroom across the hall and wet a washcloth, taking it back into his room and tenderly touching it to Sam's face. The brunette winced, but at John's gentle touch, relaxed into the feeling. Once all the blood was cleaned and the washcloth returned to the bathroom, John pulled Sam gently out of the curled-up position he was sitting in and wrapped his arms gently around the smaller boy in a hug. At Sam's wince, John immediately sprang to life.

"Okay, we need to get your shirt off so we can see exactly how badly bruised you are," John said, huffing out a breath.

"It's fine," Sam said, too quickly. John raised his eyebrows.

"Come on. Arms up. Slowly."

Looking incredibly pained, Sam raised his arms stiffly above his head and inhaled sharply as the fabric slid over his ribs. John looked him over, just as he thought, the bruising was worse on his chest, and carefully ran his hands over his ribs.

"Well, I don't think your ribs are cracked. Just bruised," John assessed. Sam sighed heavily.

"Seriously, Sam," John said, "What happened?"

Sam was quiet for a long second. "My stepdad. We got in another argument and… well… I couldn't stay in the house. I, uh, snuck out my bedroom window. I hope it's okay that I'm here."

"Of course," John said, brushing his fingers over an unharmed patch of skin on Sam's face. "You can always come here when you need to. The house is kind of empty with just me here anyway."

Sam nodded, his lashes dark against his cheekbones. He looked nervously up at John. "Um, John?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just… I like you."

John laughed gently. "I like you too."

Sam shook his head, not quite making eye contact with the taller boy. "No, I like you like you. God, that sounds really dumb doesn't it."

"No, not at all," John was quick to reassure. "I like you like you too. I just didn't know you felt the same way."

Sam looked up at John, shocked. "Really?"

"Really." John closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and mustered his courage before placing his lips on Sam's delicately. The kiss was light as a feather and couldn't have lasted for more than three seconds, but when John pulled away, the two boys were panting.

"John?" Sam said, hesitantly. John murmured in the back of his throat, his eyes locked on Sam. "Do that again."

John kissed Sam again, just as delicately as the first time, careful not to press any more of his skin onto Sam's bruised body than absolutely necessary. He carefully slipped his tongue out of his mouth and traced the line of Sam's mouth with it, feeling the brunette shiver like he was being electrocuted. John pulled away and chuckled, feeling shaken as well, and suddenly he had ninety pounds of injured boy covering him, pulling him onto the bed, and kissing inches of skin that was exposed on his chest and stomach. John gasped and moaned, twisting under Sam's grip.

"Sam," John gasped. Sam nipped at John's chest, licking a stripe up over John's nipple. "Sam, wait."

The brunette jerked and immediately scampered off of the blonde, breathing heavily. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked down at his feet, the soles still darkened from his walk over to John's. "Sorry."

"No, no, no," John said, propping himself up and tipping Sam's gaze away from his feet with his forefinger. "That's not what I meant. I just meant that you're sore and vulnerable right now. I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."

"Would you regret this?" Sam asked softly. "If we were to-"

John kissed Sam. "No, not at all. But you might. Is this, y'know…"

"My first time?" Sam asked. "Five minutes ago I just had my first kiss. Do you really think that I would have had sex before now?"

John was dumbstruck. "That was your first kiss?"

"Yeah." Sam froze. "Wait. Have you ever-"

"Kissed, yes. Anything beyond that… no." Sam sighed in relief. "You're the only one I've felt this way about," John confided, and Sam smiled sweetly.

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it."

Sam hesitated before he responded. "I wouldn't regret it, you know. I've liked you since I met you." He blushed. John smiled, but underneath the joy something serious played on his features.

"Tell me if I hurt you," John whispered, and trapped Sam's mouth in a kiss, leaning into him and pulling him down onto the bed, shifting positions so he was hovering over the brunette. He pressed his lips lightly against Sam's bruised skin and traced patterns, licking lines of muscle that was surprisingly outlined under Sam's skin. When the blonde snaked his tongue up to Sam's chest and over his nipple, Sam's breathing, which was already irregular, turned sporadic, almost as if the brunette was hyperventilating. John looked up, a question forming on his tongue, _should I keep going?_, but Sam pushed John's head back down, interrupting the blonde's though processes and turning his mind to only one thing: Sam's boxers. He worried them down Sam's hips and sucked in a breath at Sam's cock, not quite fully hardened but still an impressive size. John glanced up at Sam, the smaller boy watching with interest, then hesitantly licked a stripe over the underside of Sam's length, smiling cleverly at the sound he wrenched out of Sam's throat. John continued teasing licks over Sam's flesh until he was fully hard, then swallowed the brunette to the base in one fluid motion. Sam groaned and fell back against the bed.

John continued his assault on Sam's cock, working it hard, sliding the length into and out of his mouth, demanding Sam come for him. And Sam did, suddenly, in a rush, his cock halfway down John's throat, with a loud outburst of sound and movement. John nearly choked but composed himself and swallowed, groaning, because Sam tasted so good, so much better than anyone had a right to taste. John swallowed as much of it as he could, making his own small noises and moans.

Sam propped himself up again and reached into John's pajama bottoms, his hand wrapped around John's length, stroking it cautiously, unsure of what John would like, using the precome leaking from the slit to keep the sensation from becoming too much. At John's gasp and deep groan, Sam sped up his movements until he was stroking John's cock as fast as he could, desperate to see John fall apart for him. John came for him in seconds.

Exhaling loudly, John tossed himself onto his bed by Sam, pulling him close.

"Was that good?" He asked the boy, drowsiness overtaking him.

"Yeah," Sam responded, kissing John's closed eyelids. "Go to sleep, okay? Sorry to keep you up."

"Don't be," John murmured. "It was worth it." He wrenched his eyelids open. "Are you okay? Will you be able to sleep?"

"Like a rock," Sam reassured, and cuddled up against John, he did just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, I didn't have plans to continue this. But I got bored in my class a couple months ago and I ended up writing the third chapter to this fic. So here's the second chapter, taking place a little farther into Sam and John's relationship. Let me know what you think! Third chapter will be up soon.**

The first time that John came over to Sam's house, he was almost caught by Sam's father. It had taken him four hours of tossing and turning and two trips to get some water (and one trip to the bathroom) before his body even began to get tired, and by that point he was too bored to sleep anyway.

So he left his house through the front door, being incredibly quiet even though there was no one in his house to wake up.

John broke into a jog, the crisp air filtering through his lungs and causing him to wake up a little more, giving him a skip in his step, especially as he knew exactly where he was going. There was a rough forest path that lead almost directly from John's house to Sam's back window, cleared almost completely of sharp tree branches and carpeted with leaves. John followed the path intently, branching off when he needed to, walking the remaining five hundred feet or so right up to Sam's window.

Outside, he loitered, staying out of sight of the downstairs windows where lights were on. He paced back and forth, considering just forgetting about his silly notions to sleep with Sam that night. It was only when he stepped on an overgrown rose branch from the practically abandoned backyard garden that he decided to quit being on the fence and go up to at least knock on the window. He was already here and his foot was beginning to bleed; he didn't want to risk getting something in the scrapes on his barefoot walk home.

John winced as he put his foot down on a rickety trellis, both because the wood was partially rotting and pretty full of splinters, and because it teetered dangerously as soon as John went to put his full weight on it. He hurried up the trellis, too frightened to hang on to it for much longer than he needed to. He didn't bother to look inside the window, besides a simple glance to be sure he had found Sam's room and not, say, his stepfather's. It was only when he hoisted himself inside the room (which didn't take too long, as the window was unlocked and slightly ajar) that he realized something was wrong.

"Sam?" he called out, loud enough to be heard from a little ways down the hall, but quiet enough so no one else would hear. A strange sound echoed down the hallway, something harsh and sporadic, flesh hitting something solid. John flinched and looked around frantically, looking for a place to hide as he realized that the sound was getting louder, getting closer to Sam's room. As a last resort, John dived into Sam's darkened closet, taking cover among the boxes, rolled up posters, and the singular pair of dress pants that hung there.

As he ducked inside a cleverly gap between two boxes, John's elbow hit something solid. The something gasped and John backed up quickly, nearly falling over from shock.

"John?" the something asked.

"Sam?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam asked, pulling John closer into the gap by his t-shirt. The blonde squished even closer to his boyfriend just as Sam's stepdad opened the bedroom door.

"Sam!" the man roared, making John jump. He felt certain that Sam's stepfather would see them, crouched in the corner of the open closet, but he didn't, scanning the room and seeing the open window, stumbling over to it and screaming out of it, stumbling back down the hallway. A loud slamming noise was heard, and Sam exhaled a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked again, louder this time. John looked at him, terrified, until Sam rolled his eyes.

"He's passed out, John. He just… does that. You've seen what he does when I can't hide fast enough."

John closed his eyes, taking a minute to collect himself. He'd obviously seen the bruises, the injuries, all very obviously caused by his stepdad. But to see it in progress was a completely different story. It was utterly terrifying.

"I wanted to see you," John said softly, ruffling Sam's hair. The brunette ducked his head and pushed John out of the closet, kissing him softly.

"Stay the night?" Sam asked, walking over to his bedroom door and shutting it softly. John gave him a tiny smile and pulled him close, kissing the top of his head and making Sam blush profusely.

"I wouldn't go anywhere else."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Last chapter. I hope that you've enjoyed reading thus far.**

** Warnings for homosexual slurs; I don't agree with any of the language, but sadly in my headcanon, Sam's stepfather is one of the people who does. **

The last time John came over to Sam's house, he came over at a bad time. John had woken in the middle of the night with yet another nightmare about the Mogs. He was never ready for what he dreamt about: Henri dying. The dream was always jarring; the detail was always incredibly vivid. The blonde had woken with a start in a cold sweat, unable to stay in the empty house any longer. He sprinted down the pitch-black staircase and out the front door, not even pausing and taking the time to lock the door. He turned to the woods that grew in the space behind and between John and Sam's houses and ran through the trees in a beeline to Sam's backyard. He carefully scaled the wall to Sam's bedroom window. He tossed himself onto Sam's bed, burying his face in the pillows and inhaling the scent lingering on them deeply.

It took him longer than it should have to realize something was wrong.

John heard muffled shouting from downstairs; something deep and slurred. Something broke with a loud noise and a deep thud was heard, the dull noise of skin hitting skin. Loud, steady footsteps thumped up a set of stairs.

John sat up straight and froze with fear. That was Sam's stepdad coming upstairs.

With a loud shout and a bang, Sam's door was thrown open, letting all the sounds of arguing into the room. Sam stumbled into the room, his stepdad standing menacingly over him, his hands curled into fists. John scrambled to his feet, reaching over to Sam before he could stop himself. The whole room seemed as if it had all the air sucked out of the room as both Sam and his stepdad looked at the blonde. Sam shook his head imperceptibly, but it was too late. John was pissed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" John growled, just as Sam's stepdad turned back to Sam.

"Is this him? Is this your fag boyfriend?" Sam looked sheepishly down at his feet. John's hands clenched into fists.

"Shut the fuck up," John demanded.

"What are you gonna do queer? Punch me?" Sam's stepdad grinned cockily, sticking out his face toward John.

The blonde pulled his fist back and, with all his strength, hit the man squarely in the jaw. Sam's stepdad crumbled like deadweight to the ground, temporarily knocked out.

The room was silent for a minute.

"John!" Sam exclaimed. John looked up at him, concerned. "What the hell?!"

John was legitimately confused. "What?"

"You just punched my stepdad!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Sam, he punched you too. A couple times, from the look of it."

"I had it under control."

"Yeah, it looks like it Sam! Your face is all beat to hell again!" This wasn't entirely true: Sam's face didn't look as bruised as it usually did after Sam's stepdad had finished beating it. The only visible spot so far was a red mark that blossomed over Sam's cheekbone.

"What the hell are you doing here anyway."

"I had a fucking nightmare and I wanted to see my boyfriend. Is that such a fucking crime?!"

Sam got really quiet. John immediately realized he'd been yelling.

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

"No, I'm sorry," Sam replied. "That was dumb. I'm glad you're here."

John pulled Sam into a tight hug and any remaining anger melted away. "We should get out of here. I don't want your stepdad to wake up and take out more of his anger on you."

"He's pretty drunk," Sam said, nudging the now snoring man with his bare toes. "He probably won't remember this when he wakes up. Come on," Sam slung his stepdad's arm over his shoulders, "help me get him into his room." John lifted the rest of Sam's stepdad's weight up and realized why Sam was so strong despite his wiry frame. He had to carry his passed-out stepfather to his bedroom every night.

Together they dragged Sam's stepdad into his room and threw him onto the bed alongside Sam's reading mother who said nothing, just closed her eyes at the sight of the red mark on Sam's cheekbone.

"I'm going out, Ma," Sam said quietly, kissing his mother on the cheek.

"Sam," his mother paused as if she was going to say something, but she changed her mind, "Be back before he wakes up."

"Couse, Ma," Sam whispered, and John was struck with how similar Sam and his mother were. He realized that for a long time, it had just been the two of them.

Sam and John walked somberly out of the room and out the front door, not bothering to slip on shoes.

"Where do you want to go?" John asked Sam. They twined their fingers together.

"I know of a place," Sam said, coming to life once he was out of his house. John smiled and squeezed Sam's hand.

"Lead the way."

Sam took a sudden right into the trees, jerking John along behind him. They wove a winding path through the foliage until finally the tree trunks began to thin into a small clearing. John could tell that in the spring and summer the clearing was beautiful. Frostbitten bushes lined the clearing, and underneath the leaves that collected on the ground, he could see frozen flower petals. He scuffed up some leaves with his bare feet.

"Do you like it?" Sam asked quietly, picking up a purple petal and holding it delicately.

"How did you find this place?" John asked him, still admiring the frozen beauty.

"I used to come here all the time before I met you," Sam confided. "It's the only other place I go when… you know."

"I really like it," John smiled, and pilled Sam closer to him and down into the blanket of leaves that covered the ground. They kissed softly.

"You know you can stay with me. You don't have to stay with your stepdad," John said suddenly. Sam flinched.

"Actually, I do," Sam whispered. "I couldn't just leave. He'd find me at your place and he'd hurt you, you know that."

"But he hurts you anyway," John said. Sam just looked at him until John sighed in defeat. "I know. But I can dream."

The two lay together for a long time, doing nothing but holding hands and catching the leaves still falling off the trees. After a long nap twined together, the sun started to rise over the horizon.

"I should get you home," John whispered into Sam's ear, waking the brunette gently.

"Mmmm…" Sam groaned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, "Take me to your house."

John's breath caught in his throat. "Do you mean it?"

"I mean it. Take me home."


End file.
